"I Don't Live Here Anymore": The War On Drugs' new release

The dichotomy at the heart of The War On Drugs’ sonic world - the classicism of the songwriting paired with the diligent embellishment of 21st century studio techniques - has been the elevating factor in an unlikely success story. It’s hard to advance to the arena-playing, festival-­headlining. Grammy-winning rock canon without the former; yet subtract band leader Adam Granduciel’s scrupulous studio obsessiveness, and chances are that MOR rock that takes as much from Dire Straits as Bob Dylan might not have landed so well with those of more discerning tastes.

As it is, over four albums, the Philadelphia-based group have pulled off a seemingly improbable trick: taking well-worn (and often uncool) influences and conjuring something fresh. Both A Deeper Understanding (Best Rock Album at the 2018 Grammys) and 2014 breakthrough Lost In A Dream layered a cosmic sheen onto widescreen drive-time soundscapes, making a genuine rock star of its reluctant architect.

Fifth album I Don't Live Here Anymore takes something of a detour. It reveals The War On Drugs at their most song-conscious and streamlined. The epic, immersive, unfurling tracks that have become a Granduciel trademark are notably absent (Granduciel says he abandoned a 32-minute jam track). Psychedelic flourishes are few and far between. Many tracks boast a hitherto unheard immediacy: prominent synths, unabashed choruses, and big-sounding songs.

The usual attention to detail is present. Over three years, Granduciel bunkered down across seven studios, including Electric Ladyland and Electro-Vox, tinkering away with co-producer Shawn Everett to strip the songs of all but their essential elements. Lead track and album opener Living Proof is a prime example: a beautiful, shimmering acoustic meditation on life’s evolution, it barely raises a pulse until a closing, considerate guitar solo.

But he has ceded more control than ever. Studio sessions were of an unusually collaborative nature. Living Proof was the result of an organic jam session with the band’s core members Dave Hartley (bass) and multi-instrumentalist Anthony LaMarca; the jagged electro-pop of Victim began life on Granduciel’s 808 before being fleshed out by the trio: the title track was built upon by the band after Granduciel dropped the basic chords into the band’s collective dropbox. Its soaring, drive-time synth-rock is the pick of a clutch of anthemic tracks that make no attempt to hide their ambitions: the 80s blue-collar rock and motorik rhythms of Harmonia’s Dream and Wasted have a runaway momentum that heads for the heartlands.

Lyrically, once again Granduciel makes a little go a long way. His struggles with depression and anxiety have always acted as an intuitive embroidery to the texture of the music, more mood-setting than directly confessional. So it goes here. Themes of personal change - Granduciel has recently become a father and turned 40 - and the uncertainty of life abound, alluded to with his favourite analogies (movement and weather). When he sings of dancing at a Bob Dylan concert on the title track, the specificity of the memory jolts.

It’s just one of several moments that shift the dial on what The War On Drugs do. “I feel like something's changed," Granduciel sings on gorgeous, delicate ballad Rings Around My Father’s Eyes, and it does feel like, after a lengthy journey, Granduciel has ended up at a surprising, more accessible destination. It suits him.

From Record Collector 11/2021